snapshots

There’s a lap under there, somewhere.
My stupid reflex reacto-feeling, when they start building a mom grotto on me, is to be annoyed, then claustrophobic. What if I want to stand up? So inconsiderate. Gawd.

When I’m lucky, my upstairs brain usually steps in and points out that they’re trusting me with their treasures.
Anointing me with their lovin’ plush.
Sharing their wealth without pausing to consider whether I deserve the honor.